Forever, the Dresden Dolls
by thelittlegnome
Summary: What if Christopher Sr. did not die? An alternative family life is viewed from the eyes of Cathy Dollanganger.
1. The Accident

The wonderful meal Momma had spent so much time preparing was drying out from being too long in the warming oven. Seven was the time we usually put the twins to bed, and they were growing hungry, sleepy and cross, demanding every second, "When is Daddy coming?"

I was wondering the same thing. My stomach hurt with hunger and I could tell by Christopher's constant checking of his watch that he was just as impatient. Even our neighbours and closest friends were looking at each other in confusion; Jim Johnston's eyes lowered in disappointment. He turned to whisper in his wife's ear, but she shook her head and hissed something like, "We have to wait!"

Then, I caught sight of a car turning into our tree-lined driveway.

"Oh!" I cried. "Maybe that's Daddy coming now!"

But the car that drew to a stop before our front door was white, not green. And on the top was one of those spinning red lights. An emblem on the side of that white car read STATE POLICE. Momma smothered a cry when two policemen dressed in blue uniforms approached our front door and rang our doorbell.

It was Jim Johnston who answered the door, and allowed the two state troopers to enter, glancing about uneasily, seeing, that this was an assembly gathered together for a birthday party. All they had to do was glance into the dining room and see the festive table, the balloons suspended from the chandelier, and the gifts on the buffet.

"Mrs. Christopher Garland Dollanganger?" inquired the older of the two officers as he looked from woman to woman.

Our mother nodded slightly, stiffly. I drew nearer, as did Christopher. The twins were on the floor, playing with tiny cars, and they showed little interest in the unexpected arrival of police officers. The kindly looking uniformed man with the deep red face stepped closer to Momma.

"Mrs. Dollanganger," he began in a flat voice that sent immediate panic into my heart, "there's been an accident on Greenfield Highway."

Before Momma or anyone else could answer, the policeman continued.

"Your husband is currently at Mercy Fitzgerald Hospital; he's in a serious condition."

For a moment, Momma appeared as if she were about to cry. Her eyes darkened and her mouth had remained open since the two men came through the door. Luckily, Jim came to her rescue.

"Officers, are we able to go and see him?"

"Only his kin will be able to enter his room, but the rest of you may wait in the corridors."

"Alright," Jim declared. "Corrine, I can drive you to the hospital." He turned to our most trusted babysitter. "Bertha, watch the kids; make sure that they are fed and put them straight to bed." Mrs. Simpson nodded.

"I wanna go to the hospital too," I piped up. _Daddy needs me,_ I thought.

"Yeah," Christopher said, stepping up next to me. "Can I come with you as well?"

Jim turned to Momma, who nodded.

"Christopher, Cathy," she said. "You can come with us." She turned to the rest of the room. "Cory, Carrie: you'll be staying here. Be good to Mrs. Simpson. The rest of you: grab something to eat from the kitchen before you go."

I grabbed some chicken wings and bread rolls for everyone in the car: Jim, his wife, Momma, Christopher and me. The last thing I wanted was to collapse from hunger before reaching the hospital. As far as I knew, I could be seeing my dad for the last time.

* * *

The receptionist led us to the second floor, where Daddy was laying in one of the hospital beds. We were not allowed in his room yet. Through one of the windows, I noticed two doctors towering over him. One was scribbling on his clipboard, whereas the other fiddled with medical equipment I could not name.

A third man emerged, checking Daddy's vital signs it seemed. After a few physical procedures, he walked towards the window. I immediately leapt away and sat on the seat next to Christopher.

The door opened. Momma jumped up.

"Doctor, I need to know: is my husband alright?"

The man turned to her and gave a mild smile. "He's in a stable condition. He needs to rest for a while though." He paused. "And I'm not a doctor, I'm just a nurse."

It was Christopher's turn to stand. "We appreciate your help all the same, sir. Thank you."

Somehow, I cracked a smile. My brother always knew what to say, even in the most awkward situations. While I would react in anger when things did not go my way, Christopher would say something smart or funny and everybody would fall in love with him.

Jim and his wife waited with us. They were childless and did not need to head home anytime soon. Mrs. Johnston spent most of her days being employed at the local bookstore. Whenever Christopher and I were in need of school books, she would slash the prices in half and we would keep the leftover money to ourselves. She was too kind, unlike me, who did not even know her first name.

The clock struck two and the doctors finally let us in. As soon as I reached Daddy's side, I could not help but cry. High-pitched wails and salty warm tears came out of me as Momma held me.

I had never seen him look so vulnerable. The tall, handsome Christopher Sr. had now been reduced to an unconscious man decorated with cuts, bruises and bandages. His left leg had been plastered and elevated at a gentle angle, and his right cheek was wrinkled with stitches.

"He'll be fine, Cathy," Momma's voice broke. "He'll wake up and things will be back the way they were."

We cried together for a long time, with Christopher holding the both of us. Jim, who was also unable to control his tears, held his wife to him.

We would walk in and out of that hospital every day for a week. Even though we refused a million times, Momma would have us sent to school during the weekdays. No matter what the teachers said or made us do, nothing would sink into my brain. All I wanted to do was head back to the hospital and watch my dad, which we did everyday after school.

* * *

Seven days after the accident, Momma phoned home to tell us that Daddy was awake. Jim had also been told the good news and drove all four of us children to the hospital.

When Jim parked his car, I flew out of the passenger seat. I ran faster than the others, not caring that I forgot to shut the door behind me. I brushed past nurses and patients and accidentally bumped into a doctor along the way. I shouted an apology before finding Daddy's room and bursting in through the door.

The first thing I saw was Daddy sitting up on the bed. Momma stood next to the bed, her pink cardigan standing out from the white in the room. His face, which had been serious, broke out into a bright smile. He raised his arms as high as he could and beckoned me to him.

"Cathy... Come give me a hug!" He wheezed.

Careful not to hurt him any further, I walked over and gave him the gentlest hug I could. Shutting my eyes, I did my best to recall the last time we had held each other. To me, it had felt like years. Pulling Daddy close, my heart warmed for the first time in ages.

I did not want to lose my dad ever again.

Upon opening my eyes, I searched for Momma. She was still standing there, but I did not like what I saw. Her eyes flashed between anger and disappointment. It was rare for her to display such negative emotions. She even discouraged frowning in the family household, saying that it caused wrinkles.

Before I could question her, the rest of the Dollanganger siblings arrived. The twins piped up and bolted to my side.

"Daddy, Daddy!" Carrie cheered. I lifted her up onto the bed and did the same with Cory.

"Carrie, Cory, I've missed you kids so much," Daddy held the twins tight, one on each arm.

"But you've been asleep!" She exclaimed. "How could you have missed us when you were asleep?"

While Christopher had his chance to reunite with his father, I could not pull my eyes away from Momma, whose eyes still betrayed moments of seriousness. When Jim walked in and shook Daddy's hand, she slowly slipped away. She did not say a word or turn back when she stepped out into the corridor.


	2. New Beginnings

Daddy spent a total of two weeks in the hospital before he was released. I waited by the window sill and watched as Jim pulled into the driveway. We had become all too familiar with the teal station wagon. Upon parking his Crosley, Jim moved to the passenger door and gave my dad a shoulder to lean on. The senior Dollanganger gripped the man's upper arm and hauled himself onto the concrete, using a new crutch in the process.

Excluding Momma, the whole family hauled Daddy into the living room and placed him lightly on the sofa. Jim lifted his friend's plastered leg onto the footstool, constantly checking to see if he was in any pain. Daddy let out a sigh and smiled at me.

"Man, am I glad to be home! I don't ever want to go near the smell of disinfectant ever again!"

Christopher and I chuckled. We had our father back, and we would be forever grateful for that.

"Will you be alright without me, Chris?" Jim asked my father.

"Aw, Jim, stop worrying about me!" Daddy groaned. "Just go home and be thankful you don't have to babysit me anymore."

"Alright, then. Kids, if you ever need me, you know where I live."

We bid farewell to our loyal friend and showed him to the door. I noticed that the sun was beginning to sink into the faraway hills. I had not realised how late it was becoming. Daddy shifted on the sofa and leaned the wooden crutch against the coffee table.

"First things first: may I talk to Christopher?" Daddy asked us, before adding, "And Cathy too. Cory and Carrie, go and wait for me in the yard. I'll be there in a few minutes."

The twins skipped away to the back door, concerned only about the toys they had abandoned just moments before. Momma still had not joined us; she had been locking herself in the master bedroom as of late. Whenever she did come out and I asked her about her behaviour, she would simply shrug and retreat back up the stairs.

"Now that we're alone, I can talk to you about certain things. Oh, sit down, I may take a while."

Christopher and I did as he asked. We rested ourselves on the two-seater that sat adjacent to the sofa. I looked at Daddy curiously, for I knew that he was going to tell us something important.

"While I was in the hospital, I thought about all the things that could've happened to our family if I hadn't made it."

I felt a lump in my throat. "Daddy..." I whispered.

"Please, Cathy, this is important. You see, your mother and I have done our very best to raise the four of you. We made sure that you were all well-fed, well-educated and had all the things that some people may never have. I am very grateful that I haven't spoiled any of you, but your mother and I have always had a weakness for... material possessions."

I remembered pointing these out to Christopher once. When Daddy bought the Cadillac, I asked him why the family would need a luxury car when he could have bought an ordinary sedan, especially when Momma was still holding onto two squalling babies. Half of the items in the Dollanganger household were only there to make the place look pretty, even though the house would always be beautiful to me.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," Daddy continued. "But if I didn't make it, the whole family would be in debt. Nothing in this house is actually ours. Heck, I still need to pay a hundred more bucks for this sofa."

Christopher leaned forward. "We'd still have the house though, right?" He inquired. When Daddy paused, Christopher turned pale. "Right?"

"Oh, Christopher. I am so sorry, but we've barely even paid off the mortgage. But I didn't bring the two of you here to whine about what we don't have. As far as I'm concerned, we do have everything. But if we're going to keep everything, I'm going to need your help."

The two of us sat up, ready to hear what Daddy had to say next. He paused for a few seconds, his eyes flickering about. Daddy seemed too agitated to be able to form his next sentence. Christopher, as usual, could read his mind like a notebook.

"I could get a part-time job, Dad." He promised. "The hardware store is hiring. I could apply there."

"I'm asking too much of you, Chris," Daddy struggled. "If it might distract you from your studies, then you don't have to..."

"Dad, it's fine. A few afternoons a week won't distract me."

Daddy's face lit up once again. "You're too good to be true, son. Thank you for understanding."

For the millionth time in two weeks, I thanked God for letting us keep our father. I could not bear to lose the house that Christopher and I grew up in.

I moved to the edge of the seat. "What about me? I can help."

"Yes, you can, Cathy," Daddy agreed. "You're not old enough to work, but the family will need someone to help around the house. With your mother working at the diner, we're gonna need someone to look after the twins."

"Momma? Working?"

"Didn't she tell you? She will be working as a waitress starting from tomorrow."

Momma being employed at a diner was the last thing I could imagine. She could barely look after the house. Heck, her cooking was average. Sometimes, she would buy freshly-baked food from the store and pass it off as her own.

"No," I replied. "She didn't tell us anything."

"Because she ain't happy about it," Daddy said. "It's not hard to miss that look she's been giving for the last while or so. When I woke up in the hospital, she was all smiles and kisses. When I told her that we had to start saving our money... well, you can imagine her reaction. Took me a while to convince her to get a job and to stop buying things that aren't necessities."

"Sounds like Momma," I sang sarcastically.

"Don't be too hard on her. She has only ever known wealth. She agreed to go find a job when I said that I didn't want my family to go hungry, at least."

My mind still could not consume the image of Momma in uniform. The last time we had lunch there, she looked at a passing waitress and scowled. The uniform consisted of a sky blue dress with white frills and a grey apron. Frankly, they were maids' outfits. Momma turned and whispered in my ear, "I would not be caught dead in that."

"I don't have to go back to work until next week," Daddy drew me out from my train of thought. "I won't be able to travel for another few months but Bob says I'm too resourceful to be sacked." He chuckled. "I'll be based here in Gladstone until my injuries heal. Even better, I don't have to take a pay cut."

We had invited Daddy's boss for dinner a few times. One could tell that Bob admired my father for his hard work; he once bragged that the firm would not survive without Christopher Sr. Of course, Christopher Jr. would smile just as proudly, knowing that his dad was a uniquely intelligent human being.

"That's great to hear, Dad," my brother beamed. "In fact, I'll go down to the store now."

"They close in twenty minutes," I pointed out.

"Then, I'll have to run." Christopher leapt to his feet and rushed to the door.

"If I get the job, I'll pay off the sofa in a week. You'll see!"

He shut the door behind him and bolted across the street. The sky had darkened from orange to purple. I relocated next to Daddy and hugged him, never wanting to let him go.

"We'll be fine, Cathy. Just gotta pull out weight for the time being."

"I can clean the house and look after the twins," I said. "But I don't know how to cook."

"That's alright, sweetie. We'll hire Mrs. Simpson to babysit for another week before leaving you on your own. I'll get her to teach you how to cook."

"She always cooks cabbage. I hate cabbage."

Daddy laughed. "Me too. But I'd rather eat that than starve. She cooks other things as well; didn't she bake you cupcakes at one point?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

"Then I'll make sure that she'll teach you everything there is to know about cooking."

In another life, I would have complained about being stuck with all the chores. Cooking, cleaning and babysitting would be the death of me. But I could never part with our home, and it would tear me apart if I had to lose Daddy again.

* * *

Two weeks flew by, and boy, had our household changed!

Christopher had been accepted for his new job upon arriving at the hardware store. He told us that to his astonishment, the owner was the father of one of his classmates. Although he had no work experience, Christopher managed to charm his way into the business by expressing his eagerness to learn.

Mr. Baker took him under his wing and trained him as the new stock person. Christopher knew the store inside-out by his second shift. How he managed to learn everything in two days, I would never know. He worked twelve hours altogether during the first week. You could imagine the family's delight when he came home and presented his first pay cheque.

"Mom! Dad!" He called. "The sofa belongs to us now!"

Our parents emerged from the dining room and simultaneously wrapped their arms around their eldest son. Momma jumped up and down in delight whereas Daddy expressed his pride and thanks for Christopher's diligence.

Momma's cheers gradually faded. Then slowly, she walked out of the room like some confused ghost. Her smile faded and was replaced with a look of exhaustion. She had only worked two nights that week, I thought. If anyone was to be exhausted, it would be me.

A routine began as soon as I arrived home from school. I would grab a quick snack from the fridge before escaping to my bedroom to finish my homework. Whenever Momma was working, she would leave by four-thirty, forcing me to take up the cleaning and babysitting. By five-thirty, the cooking began. I would make sure that there were enough leftovers for Christopher, Daddy or Momma; depending on who was working that night.

By the second week, I became an expert on making pumpkin soup. Mrs. Simpson _did_ know how to make other foods apart from cabbage. She also taught me how to bake bread from scratch. Although she was not the nicest person in the neighbourhood, on our last day together, she bought me a cookbook filled with a variety of dinners and lunches.

Chopping up the pumpkin exhausted me. During the preparation, Carrie would interrupt and demand that I play with her. When I refused, she would stamp her feet and demand again that I play with her; to which I replied that if she did not leave me alone, there would be no dinner that night.

Of course, I would then make sure that Cory and Carrie were bathed and ready for bed. Both tasks were a challenge, thanks to my rambunctious little sister.

Slowly but steadily, the furniture and household appliances were being paid off. Momma and Christopher focused on our possessions while Daddy worked off the mortgage, bit by bit. By late June, the following items had been paid off: the sofa, the coffee table, the stove and a vase.

But still, Momma refused to smile.


	3. Discovery

On the first of July, I made a beef lasagne of colossal proportion. Nobody had to work that evening, but I insisted on attempting to make the family's favourite dinner. Momma kept a stack of pasta sheets in the fridge, but they were due to expire in a few days.

While I sliced at the sheets, Daddy asked how my ballet classes had been. I had been taking two lessons a week since kindergarten, though in recent times, two became three. Madame Delacroix insisted I visit the studio more, after I told her that I wanted to become a professional dancer.

"They've been good," I murmured to Daddy. "Madame has been very strict on me the last weeks."

"That's because she wants you to succeed," he said. "You can't achieve your dreams when you're being still being spoon-fed at twelve."

I giggled. "Yeah, I know. I don't mind her being strict; it's just that sometimes, she can be a bit..."

"Harsh?"

"Yeah, just a little bit."

Daddy leaned both of his arms on the counter, his wooden crutch standing next to him. I told him to take a seat on the cushioned bar stool, but he maintained that he felt like standing.

"If it gets too much for you, I can take you out of a class," Daddy suggested.

"I should be fine," I replied, before I felt a moment of worry. "Do you want me to drop a class?"

"No, Cathy. Only if you want to."

"If we can't fit it in our budget..."

"No, Cathy. I wasn't insinuating that at all. I would never ask you to give up on your dream. Besides, we can afford to have one child take up an extracurricular activity."

I smiled. "Thanks, Dad. Really, thanks for everything."

As I laid the top sheet onto the lasagne, he stretched his hand out and patted mine.

"Anything for you."

He picked up his crutch and limped away to join the twins, who were making a mess of themselves in the sandbox. I sprinkled two handfuls of cheese onto the lasagne and shoved the casserole dish into the preheated oven.

* * *

That same night, Christopher heard yelling coming from the master bedroom. An hour after we had finished our dinner, I found him standing at the bottom of the stairs. Before I could ask, he demanded that I go and play with the twins. Sensing the tension, I moved next to him and heard the noises.

"You don't have to hear this, Cathy," Christopher insisted. "They're just having another mini-argument."

When our parents fought, they would only scold each other. I was hearing yells. Momma was doing most of the screaming, while Daddy shouted angrily but controllably.

"I can't work there anymore!" Momma's tantrum was barely heard behind the closed door.

"You've only been working two nights a week," Daddy rebuked. "Heck, you only work eight hours a week! Try me: I've been working almost everyday since Christopher was born!"

"It's so humiliating wearing that uniform. I'm no better than a maid!"

"Except maids work harder than you do."

I thought I heard a slap. The yelling stopped, but I knew that Daddy was not going to let her off the hook.

"You can just work one night a week! I'm sure your boss will understand."

"No, _you _don't understand! I don't want to be a waitress anymore; I want to go back to the way things were!"

A pause. "We _can_ go back to the way things were, Corrine. We just have to pay everything off, and we'll be living comfortably for the rest of our lives."

"That will take years!" Another pause. "Oh, I'm not good for anything! I'm a terrible waitress AND a terrible housewife!"

"That's not true."

"Yes, it is! I've been nothing but a burden to you and the kids. Oh, Christopher... I may as well go back."

Before I realised it, Christopher and I had moved further and further up the stairs since the argument started. It was rude for us to be eavesdropping, but curiosity got the better of us. We were drawn to the heated conversation as if we were listening to a radio drama.

"Back? What do you mean, _back_? You're not talking about Foxworth Hall, are you?!"

"Maybe, I am."

"Don't go there, Corrine! They'll... they won't accept you!"

"My father will forgive me. He has to! I wrote to him and he replied!"

I turned to Christopher, who stared back at me in shock. _Father?!_ I mouthed. Christopher shook his head in bewilderment. For a moment, we read each other's minds. We did not have any relatives; at least, not living anyway.

"You _wrote_ to him?" I heard my father say. "When?"

"A few days ago." Mother replied. "She said that they're willing to forgive me if I return to Foxworth Hall on my own."

I took a step back. I did not want to hear the rest of it.

"Corrine..." Daddy's voice cracked. "You're leaving me?"

My vision blurred. I bolted down the stairs and flew out the door. Christopher called out for me, but I just ran. I snatched a pair of sandals, grabbed my bike from outside the garage and took off for nowhere in particular.

I pedalled across the street with tears rolling down my face. A cry caught in my throat as I rode out onto the neighbouring street. A few people watched me flee past, and I could feel their eyes judging me.

After ten minutes of constant pedalling, I found myself outside the ballet studio. The building was closed, but I noticed Madame Delacroix and her teenaged daughter, Anita, inside. I parked the bike on the side of the building and wiped my tears. I was unsure whether or not I should go to the two, then Madame noticed me and quickly opened the door.

"Cathy!" She exclaimed. "Are you alright?"

I did not answer, but she let me in anyway. Anita asked me the same thing as Madame shut the door behind me. Trying my best not to cry anymore, I told them that my parents were likely on the verge of separating.

"Aw, Cathy," the seventeen-year-old comforted. "I'm sure it was just a silly argument."

"No," I managed. "I think Momma wants to leave my dad. She said she wanted to go stay with her parents, and I didn't even know that they were alive!"

"Shh... take a deep breath." I followed Anita's instruction. "Now, let it out slowly." I exhaled as steadily as I could.

"Sounds like quite a bit to take in," Anita continued. "Finding out that you have relatives on top of that argument. But we know your dad." Madame Delacroix nodded along with her daughter. "He'll say something nice and your mom will stay and be all smiles again."

"I guess," I murmured. Daddy's ability to charm was known around the suburb. He even passed his genes down to Christopher; I wondered if Cory and Carrie would exhibit this trait when they grew older.

"I'm going to change the subject for a minute," stated Anita. "I'll be leaving for Florida tomorrow."

"Leaving?" I said in a bout of surprise. "Like, moving?"

"Possibly. I have landed an audition at the Rosencoff School of Ballet."

"Oh! Are they good?"

"Only the best ballet school in Florida," Madame Delacroix gladly said. "Anita will be auditioning in two days time. If she gets in, she'll be there permanently; if not, you'll be seeing her around."

The two of them took my mind of my home situation by showering praises for the school. Rosencoff was not known for allowing anyone to audition; it was rare for applicants to even receive a reply from the school. Anita had sent letters every week for a year before they finally accepted her.

Madame suggested that perhaps, in a few years time, I will be the one auditioning.

* * *

It was a quarter to nine when I arrived home. Christopher was sitting on the porch bench when I reached the doormat. He was burying his face in his hands and did not realise that I had returned until I stepped towards him. He didn't say a word. Without looking at me, he stood, opened the door and let me inside.

I wondered if I should have left, when I saw Daddy sitting mournfully on the sofa. Presumably, the twins had been put to bed, for no other noise lingered around the house. Daddy was doing exactly was Christopher was doing on the porch.

Except Daddy knew I was there. Wiping his eyes, he looked up at the wall opposite of him and cleared his throat.

"Don't run away like that ever again, Cathy," he contained his sobs. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Daddy," I replied, but he still would not look at me. "I'm sorry."

The silence stretched through time, and it crowded every space. Momma's coat, which she kept on the rack, had disappeared. Her heels and sandals were also missing from the shoe cabinet. Then, it occurred to me.

"She's gone, Cathy," my dad whispered. "She's gone."


	4. Family History

We continued to live life as we did: Daddy working at the firm, Chris juggling school with a part-time job and me helping out at home. The twins still had it best. All they did was eat, sleep and play.

But they weren't completely clueless.

During the first day of Momma's absence, Carrie asked me where she was. Twice. I merely replied that she was on a vacation, knowing that it was only half-true. Carrie accepted my answer and confirmed it to Cory.

The evening after Momma left, Daddy composed himself the best he could. He ironed his dress shirt and pants with more than enough skill for a man who barely knew how an iron worked. His face was rinsed and dried, but nothing could cure his red eyes. I knew that he hid in his bedroom to cry, but I didn't dare say a word.

Before it was time to go to sleep, I sat up on my bed with the quilt warming my legs. Daddy sat on the side, bouncing slightly on the mattress. No thanks to recent agitations, he had been making all sorts of eccentric actions.

"This morning, you asked about your grandparents," he began. "Your mother and I have always told you that we didn't have any other relatives, and that it was just us."

"Do we have any other relatives?" I interrupted. I had to know that there weren't any more skeletons in the closet.

"I don't think so. Looks like it's just your mother's parents left. Oh, and your grandmother's cousin, who is also the butler of their household."

I remembered the mention of Foxworth Hall. I didn't know where it was, let alone what it was, but it sounded prestigious. "They must be incredibly rich," I openly pondered.

"They are." He nodded. "They are one of the richest people in Virginia." Then, he paused. "Cathy, I'm going to tell you a story. I've already told Chris, but you have a right to know as well. I may tell the twins when they're a bit older, but not now."

Making long conversations seemed to become a habit of his. It worried me that there were so many things that I did not know, but when Daddy was doing the talking, I put all my trust in him. At least I knew that he did things for a reason.

"I was born to Garland Foxworth, the previous owner of Foxworth Hall. He was much older than my mother, whose name was Alicia. I don't remember my father, but my mother said that they loved each other very much, and that they were happy. He died soon after I was born, you see. My mother and I spent my first few years at Foxworth Hall until we moved to Richmond. There, she remarried to a doctor; my stepfather, who I've always considered to be my real father."

Daddy had mentioned a few times that he had wanted to become a doctor. As he continued his story, I understood why. His stepfather sounded like a saint; a poor man who still had the will to help the sick and injured.

"He died when I started high school," I felt the crack in Daddy's voice. "Then, my mother died of cancer. I felt as though I had nothing left. No parents, no home... no will to live for that matter. But before my mother died, she had me sent back to Foxworth Hall, which was then run by father's son, Malcolm. Oh, and his wife, Olivia. Both of them still own the mansion, actually."

A picture formed in my head. An impoverished young man arriving at a grand building decorated with chandeliers and candles. Maids, servants and other staff daintily walking in and out, and up and down the place. Daddy's eyes must have been like fine china plates.

"She told me about how big the mansion was and that the Foxworths had more than enough money to send me to medical school." Sadness disappeared from Daddy's eyes, but he did not smile. "But I didn't care about going to medical school anymore. My life was over. I arrived at Foxworth Hall with two suitcases and the dirty clothes I wore. Malcolm and Olivia took me in. I was grateful, but they could never replace my mother and father. And then, I met their daughter."

I had an idea of where this was going. Boy meets girl, then the boy and girl fall in love. Daddy was telling me the story of his first love.

"She brought light back into my life again. I fell crazily in love with the daughter of Malcolm and Olivia Foxworth. She gave me a reason to live, and I started medical school. Unfortunately, when they found out about us, we were forever banished from Foxworth Hall."

I could not help but smile and blush at Daddy telling me such a personal, romantic story. Though, as soon as my face warmed, my body froze. My heart stopped. A moment of dread filled my skin with sweat.

There was something wrong with the story.

"Daddy..." I cautiously started. "Malcolm and Olivia... were they the ones Momma wrote to? Wait... the daughter... Momma's the daughter! Then, that means..."

I wanted him to finish my discovery for me. Instead, Daddy looked at me with a hint of trepidation. He slowly nodded, keeping his eyes on mine.

"That means you and Momma are related."

"Yes, Cathy," Daddy sighed. "I was her half-uncle, but we were only a few years apart. We became close and before I knew it, I fell in love with her. And I could not let her go."

Mrs. Simpson liked to remark that my parents looked like brother and sister. I had always seen the resemblance, but I never realised that she was close to the truth.

"I understand if you are uncomfortable with this knowledge, or even horrified by it," he said. "But I loved your mother. Heck, I still love her. But if you want me to leave you alone for a bit, I'll give you some space."

I thought about it. I knew that socially, it was wrong. My brain highlighted the negatives, but none of them bothered me. As far as I knew, I had a mother, a father and three amazing siblings. It took me a few seconds, but I knew that I could never be disgusted by my parents.

"It's okay, Dad," I whispered. "I'm not horrified by you and Momma. It's just a bit to take in."

He breathed a sigh of relief and wiped his chin with his palm. I could tell then and there that Daddy had been so afraid of my reaction. Perhaps, he would not have been able to live with himself if I did not approve.

"It's okay," I repeated, moving across the bed to hug him. "You and Momma didn't do anything wrong. And I'm glad that you're my dad; I couldn't have asked for a better dad."

Before I knew it, I was calling him "dad" rather than "daddy". He began to loosen from his tense self, making it my turn to sigh in relief. I hated to see my dad so distressed; the frowns tore at his usually cheerful face, transforming him into an older man.

But after that day of revelation, I began to hate my mother. I could not comprehend why she would leave me and Christopher, not to mention Carrie and Cory. Worst of all, how could she abandon Dad? How could she leave the man who had only loved and supported her even before their marriage?

A dark knot twisted my heart, and I let it consume me.


	5. Resentment

For the following years, we were no longer the Dresden Dolls. All of Gladstone could see that there was a papa doll and four child dolls, but no mama doll. We were missing someone, and I could not care less.

Things were running smoothly without Momma's whining. Dad and Chris (as I began to call him) had paid off everything that lived in our house; they only had to focus on the mortgage. Chris still worked at the hardware store, yet he kept straight A's in school. Whenever he arrived home from school or work, he would either be helping me with the twins or stuck in his room memorizing ridiculous formulas.

Carrie and Cory had reached their second year of elementary school. I could not be more proud of my little sister, who immediately befriended her entire class and excelled in reading, writing and music. In her miniature gang, there were three girls and her brother.

Dad had been informed by their teacher that Cory needed to learn to be more assertive. He excelled mostly in mathematics and keeping to himself. The other kids loved to tease him, as his only friends were a bunch of girls. But Cory had maintained that he liked his friends, whether they were male or female.

"And Carrie and the girls like having me around!" He confided to me once. "They're good to me."

Dad travelled the world again after his full recovery, heading to conferences and staying in expensive hotels with his co-workers. That left me at home, doing all the cooking and cleaning. I did not have to supervise the twins as much as I used to; I merely had to check whether or not they completed their homework.

During the summer of 1959, Chris and I picked up the twins from their school and we all rode our bikes for home. The one or two luxuries we did buy in this day and age were two more children's bicycles. The twins took to them immediately after they started kindergarten. We let them ride ahead of us, so we could keep an eye on them.

"Don't go too fast, Carrie!" I always had to tell my sister. "You'll fall off your bike and hurt yourself!"

When Chris and I were far enough behind the twins (but not too far), we would have conversations of our own. With the both of us in high school, we were able to chat about anything from friends to physics.

"I got an A in Spanish!" I bragged to my older brother.

"Oh, yeah?" He joked. "Well, you'll never beat me! I'm all A's on my report!"

I did not mind being intellectually inferior to my brother. Heck, no one in the school could beat the talented Christopher Dollanganger. If anything, I was satisfied with my straight B's and an A.

"Oh, wait! I got another A in P.E.!"

"So did I, and I don't even do sport!"

I rolled my eyes, chuckling in the process. Carrie rode left and right and left and right; showing off her bicycling skills. Cory looked like as if he wanted to copy her, but then thought better of it.

"Cathy," Chris murmured. "What do you think Mom is doing now?"

I almost screeched to a halt. Before I could brake even harder, logic came back to me and I accelerated back to my former speed like nothing had happened.

"Don't know, don't care," was my current motto.

"Do you really not care?" Chris asked.

"Yeah, I mean, there's no point in thinking about her when she's not thinking about us."

"But she's our mother."

"We don't have a mother!" I said too loudly, as Cory flickered his gaze at me.

"Why are you angry?" My little brother said in that curious tone of his.

"Oh, it's nothing, Cory," I replied. "Just schoolwork."

He immediately turned back around and followed his twin once more. My hands clenched on the bicycle's handlebars as I tried to squeeze out my anger.

"She doesn't care about us," I murmured to Chris. "All she cares about is money."

"Don't you worry about her sometimes?" He asked.

"You know what? I don't."

"Cathy-"

"That's enough, Chris. I don't wanna talk about her anymore."

Thankfully, he left it at that. I would've snapped again if I had to think about that woman any longer. After all, how could any mother leave her children? Frankly, I thought, Momma should have known what she was getting into after having one child.

When the breeze softened my temper, I wondered if she ever did love my dad more than money.

* * *

When we arrived home, the first thing we noticed was Dad's new second-hand Ford Station Wagon parked on the driveway. Dad would occasionally arrive home a few hours early, just so he could see us; but he was supposed to be in Illinois for the next two days. I turned to Chris, who shared my confused expression. The four of us locked our bikes in the garage before heading up the porch.

I opened the door to find the doorway cluttered with luggage. The shoe cabinet hung open, crammed with many pairs of women's shoes I had never seen before. The coat hanger was occupied by a number of hats, each of them possessing vibrantly different colours. As the four of us walked further into the living room, we noticed Dad sitting on the sofa, talking to a beautiful blonde woman.

As I stepped closer, I flinched. Momma was back.

Dad finally acknowledged our presence and turned to face his children. Momma stood from the sofa and took a long look at us, her eyes moving from our heads to our feet.

"Kids..." Dad began, but could not say anything else.

Momma, on the other hand, folded her hands like a proper lady and smiled.

"Hello, everyone!" She beamed. "I'm back."

Before I could respond, the twins ran past me.

"Momma!" Both Cory and Carrie cheered and leapt into their mother's arms. I stood still, flabbergasted. I had barely noticed Chris walking over to greet the woman none of us had seen in ages.

With three Dresden dolls clinging onto the mama doll, Dad left the sofa and approached me in my shocked state.

"Cathy," he said. "Aren't you going to give your Mom a hug?"

I pulled away from him. "No!" I reacted. "When did... How could...?"

"I know this is a lot to take in, but your Mom has returned to us. She only arrived a few hours ago. Please, Cathy, go to her."

"Dad, she walked out on us two years ago! How could you take her back, just like that?!"

Chris, Carrie and Cory were now staring at me. Momma did not meet my eyes; her face fell to the floor, refusing to lift itself back up.

"She won't leave us ever again," Dad said. "Whatever happened before is all history."

"And how would you know that?!" I yelled. "How can you be sure that she won't ditch you again to live in some godforsaken mansion?!"

"Cathy..."

"No! Just leave me alone!"

I hauled myself right up those stairs and fled to my room. I slammed the door and collapsed on my bed, crying and convulsing on the cotton quilt.

_How could he forgive her?_ A flood of thoughts surged through my brain. _Why can't that woman just go away? How could Dad pretend that nothing had ever happened?!_

I knew it was immature of my fourteen-year-old self to hide in my bedroom, but I had nowhere to run. Momma had long been the last person I had wanted to see; I never thought that she would show up again in my life. She could have just stayed with those rich old crones and stopped being a nuisance.

I silently raged in my room for an undetermined amount of time. The coldness I felt for my Mom now turned into a fiery form of hatred.

And it would drive me out of home at sixteen.


	6. Rebellion

At the age of fifteen, my grades had dropped to an all time low. I understood everything that my teachers were saying, but upon leaving the classroom, I would wonder how any of the things they taught me were relevant. After all, I wasn't going to become a doctor, a lawyer or a teacher.

Every time I arrived home, something would set me off. Usually it had something to do with Mom. I couldn't help it; every time she spoke to me, her voice would become a trigger for my impending rage. When Dad witnessed one of my mood swings, he would take Mom's side and plead with me to not make a scene. Unfortunately, it would make me even angrier and I'd storm out of the house.

The only place where I felt safe was at Madame Delacroix's Ballet Studio. Madame had since hired me as her secretary; I would take phone calls and meet with potential future clients while she taught the children's classes. I also began to train every single day, determined to become the best ballerina in the world so I could get the Hell out of Pennsylvania. There wasn't much to do in Gladstone, apart from hanging out with friends at the local diner, which I did in my spare time.

At sixteen, I had a final confrontation with Mom. As usual, Dad would show up and try to calm the place down. But this time, he did not beg; he faced me head-on.

"Cathy, you have been behaving like this for two years!" He reprimanded. "This has got to stop."

"Behaving like what?" I retorted. "I don't smoke, I don't drink and I most certainly don't sleep around!"

"You know what I mean. You yell, you curse and you disrespect your mother!"

I fired up in rage. "She does not deserve my respect. And she does _not_ deserve anyone else's either!"

"Every time you come home, there's nothing but drama! The twins aren't deaf, you know! They can hear every word you scream."

"Fine! I'll leave! Now you have one less drama to worry about!"

I had barely noticed Mom approach me as Dad and I tore into each other. She gently nudged her husband aside and looked straight at me.

"That's not what your father meant, Cathy. I've told you many times that I'm sorry; I don't care if you don't forgive me, but the least you could do is not be angry with me in front of everyone."

I scoffed. "In front of everyone... I guess appearances still matter to you."

"That is not what _I_ meant! I don't yell at you; why do you feel the need to yell at _me_?"

"Because..." I paused, ready to proclaim the truth yet feeling a hint of dread. "I hate you."

Dad's mouth dropped open. Mom continued to look at me, her face unchanging. Her head tilted in a vague nod and she stared at my feet.

"Well," she said. "I suppose I'm not surprised. Though I hoped that it wouldn't come to this."

I thought I saw tears in her eyes, threatening to fall down her cheeks. Then, they disappeared. In the dead silence, she walked away, up the stairs.

Dad dropped on the arm of the two-seater, his hands clenching at one another. A moment of sadness was drawn on his face, and I felt sorry for him. As I turned to my side, I noticed that the twins were hiding behind the wall. Chris found them and ordered them to go to their rooms, whispering fiercely that they should not have been eavesdropping.

I hated exposing Carrie and Cory to my wrath. I never meant to scare them. I only yelled at Mom when I believed that they weren't around. Unfortunately they were bright kids. They would've sensed my fury even if they hadn't witnessed any of those arguments.

Dad rubbed at his eyes, displaying nothing but disappointment and sorrow.

"Oh, Cathy," he sighed. "Why did you have to say those awful things?"

I shrugged. "It's the truth," I replied.

He swallowed. "Do you hate me too?"

The truth was that I didn't. But I couldn't understand why he still pretended that nothing had happened. The lady had been gone for two years. She left for money and mink coats (which she still kept); how could Dad be sure that she didn't find another man?

I couldn't give him an answer, so I walked past him and quietly fled to my room.

Upon stepping through the door, I grabbed a suitcase from my wardrobe and flung it open on my bed. I pulled open every drawer and gathered all of my underwear, shirts and skirts. I bunched up my ballet gear and stuffed it into the suitcase.

A voice at the door said "Hey!" I jumped to find Chris gasping at my actions.

"What the heck are you doing?" He whispered, his eyes flickering in and out of the hallway, as if afraid that someone would hear.

"I'm leaving," I said.

"Leaving for where?"

"Florida."

He gasped once more. "What about school?" When I looked at him like the answer was obvious, he shut the door and walked towards me. "Really, Cathy? You're going to drop out of school to go to a place you've never been?"

"I've been accepted."

His eyes widened. A moment's smile appeared on his lips, before he became serious again.

"Were you going to tell us?" He asked.

"I was going to tell the family just ten minutes ago," I said. "Before I could say anything, Mom walked up to me and asked me why I hadn't turned in my laundry yet. I couldn't help it; I got angry and I forgot about it."

Before I left Madame Delacroix's studio, she handed me a letter. It was a reply to an application I had sent a fortnight before. I cheered when I read the first two lines.

_To Cathy Dollanganger,_

_I have written to inform you that you have been accepted to audition at the Rosencoff School of Ballet._

"So, how are you getting there?" Chris brought me back to the present.

"I will take a bus, then a train. Then, another bus." I added.

"What about money? You don't have any money."

"Yes, I do. Madame Delacroix paid me for all that secretary work."

"She didn't even pay you that much!" He argued.

"I'm not leaving forever, Chris," I said. "It's an audition. I just need to leave for a little while."

He sighed in disappointment, then he nodded. As I grabbed my school backpack and filled it with more things, Chris reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. I quickly grabbed my toothbrush from the adjacent bathroom and re-entered my room. He grabbed my hand and placed something into my palm. I looked down and stopped. It was a fifty dollar note.

"Chris, I can't take this," I said, stunned at his gesture.

"You'll need it to buy food and things," he insisted. "And for the return fare if you don't have enough."

Everything had turned out well for Chris since the end of last year. The test results came out and he had been accepted into the University of Pennsylvania. On top of that, his boss had promoted him as the vice manager of our local hardware store. Although it meant that my brother had to work more hours, Chris could afford to go to college, and he had plenty more cash to spare.

I had no words, so I hugged him.

"Thank you, Chris!" I said. "I'll pay you back as soon as I can."

"Don't worry about it. I know you don't want me to say this, but Mom and Dad would want you to be safe too. They will kill me for letting you go, but I agree with you: you do need a trip out of Pennsylvania."

Perhaps my temper had worried my older brother too. One part of me fiercely discouraged me from leaving and told me to control my outbursts. Yet my heart sang out to me; if I didn't leave now, things would only get worse. I also pictured myself as a middle-aged lady, moping about how I missed my one chance to become a national icon.

As I packed my final belongings, I wrote a note to the family. It was short and simple, with repeated beggings for them to not come after me.

I snuck out of the house and left for the evening bus.


	7. The Audition

"Miss Cathy Doll... D-Dollanga..."

"Dollanganger," I corrected Madame Marisha, who was sitting at a table filled with application documents. I, on the other hand, stood in the middle of her studio in Greenglenna.

"What kind of a name is Dollanganger?" She half-asked half-reprimanded in her uptight accent.

"An unusual one," I replied. "If it's too tough for you, you can just call me Cathy Doll."

"Doll..." She tested. "I like that. It suits you. You really do look like a doll."

I did not know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult. Madame Marisha had a reputation for making snide remarks, but I had been told it was because she had high expectations of everyone.

I had the honor of watching a few of the previous auditions. The studio was open to audiences who wanted to support their loved ones. Most of the dancers had trained for as long as I had; while a few others, where they lacked in experience they made up for in confidence. As I warmed up for my audition, I was semi-aware of a young, coffee-haired man eyeing my movements.

"Okay..." she said, scribbling on one of her papers. "Whenever you're ready."

I gestured at Georges, Marisha's pianist husband, to start playing. All successful applicants had to dance to an excerpt from Pyotr Tchaikovsky's 'The Nutcracker'. The letter had stated that we were allowed to choose any number from the two acts, and we had to write back to Madame, stating our piece. I had chosen to dance to 'Tarantella'. Before the first note played, I stretched and stood tall on my toes.

The movements came to me like I had practised. I took a few goose steps and arabesqued my way around the studio. I leapt, I spun and I pirouetted, sometimes not in that order. The air rushed past my face as I flew for the stars. My dream was tempting me, urging me to chase after it. I refused to rest until I caught it with both hands.

Midway through the piece, I could not help but smile. Every move I made was not only correct, but I had reached heights that I had never reached before. The upbeat music added to my joy and I flew up into a climactic mid-air split.

As the number came to an end, I focused solely on accuracy. One wrong move and I would lose all chance of having an ecstatic career. The pianist slowed and I ended the piece with a gentle bow, right on the final note.

I didn't realise that people were clapping until I looked up. Madame Marisha had leapt off her seat and yelled "Bravo! Bravo!" Clapping the loudest was the young man, who had moved up to the front of the audience.

"Cathy Doll," Madame announced. "Welcome to the Rosencoff School of Ballet!"

* * *

After being congratulated by so many pairs of hands, I burst from the studio and rushed to a nearby telephone booth. My fingers had never moved so fast as I wound up the numbers for home. I heard the ringing signal, ringing and ringing. Only three rings had sounded but it felt like an hour had gone by.

Finally, someone picked up.

"Hello?"

It was a child's voice. I had a moment of confusion, before I recognised who I was speaking to.

"Carrie!" I called.

"Cathy!" She beamed. "Where are you?"

"I'm in Florida!" I paused, noticing how bright the day was. "Wait... shouldn't you be in school?"

"I'm sick, so I'm staying home."

I paused again. "You don't sound sick."

Silence drowned out the line, and I knew. "Carrie!" I scolded. "You are supposed to be in school!"

My little sister put her foot down. "Well, I thought that if you didn't have to go to school, then _I_ don't have to go to school!"

"I am at school! I just got into the most prestigious ballet school in Florida!"

"Oh, you did? That is so great, Cathy!"

"And I will be training every single day, instead of being lazy like you are! Honestly, is it really that fun at home?"

Carrie thought about it. "Not really," she concluded. "It's a little bit boring."

"I thought so, which is why you should be at school."

"I'll go tomorrow, I promise!" She said. "Cathy... when are you coming home?"

I did not expect that question so soon. The last couple of days had been a breeze. I had never understood the term "living in the moment" until now.

"I don't know," I honestly stated. "I will be staying in the dormitories for now." What I hadn't told Carrie was that I could only afford to stay one week, before I had to find a job. "I'll visit during the holidays, which will be in about two months."

"That's ages away!" She complained. "Please come home. We miss you. Daddy's worried, and so is Momma."

"I promise to be home during the holidays. I'll take you and Cory to the movies then, okay?"

"Okay, Cathy..."

"I have to go now. I'll call again tomorrow. Bye, Carrie!"

"Bye, Cathy!"

As soon as I hung up, I pulled the booth door open and walked right into a stranger's chest.

"Oh, my God! I'm so sorry! I..."

"It's no trouble, Miss Dollanganger."

The English accent threw me off, and I looked up to a set of deep brown eyes.

"Oh," I gasped. "It's you. You were at the auditions."

"Yes, I was." The man smiled, then extended his hand. "Julian Marquet, Madame Marisha's son."

I shook his hand, stunned into a momentary silence once again. "Oh, I didn't know she had a son." I said stupidly. "Do you dance?"

"I most certainly do. I am currently in rehearsal for a production in New York. I just came down to visit my mother."

"New York?" An image of glittering skyscrapers clouded my mind. "That sounds impressive!"

"It's not too bad. Soon, I'll hit the big money, and _that_ will be impressive." Julian checked his watch. "I'll have to go in half an hour. The company only let me go for this short break."

"Oh, that's a shame." I could not help but notice how the sun reflected off his wavy hair. He also wore a tan, which I found unusual for a person who spent most of their life in England. Still, he looked like a man who took care of himself.

"Miss Dollanganger, will you still be here in three weeks?"

My heart beat even faster than it did before. "Yes," I impulsively answered. "I will."

"Brilliant! In that case, would you care to join me for dinner three weeks from now?"

I couldn't help but chuckle to myself. "Are you asking me on a date, Mr. Marquet?"

"Yes, I am, Miss Dollanganger," he teased. "How about it?"

Again, I replied with an instant "yes".

"Oh, thank goodness! Well, I will meet you outside of the studio in three weeks; in three Tuesdays time!" He confirmed.

"Okay!" I beamed. "I will pencil it in."

"Alright, then!" Julian shuffled his feet and headed towards a rusty little car. "I'm afraid I have to leave now. Goodbye, Miss Dollanganger!"

"Bye!" I farewelled, waving at the handsome youth before he sat in the driver's seat and took off.


	8. A Date Gone Wrong

True to his word, Julian returned to Greenglenna after three weeks. True to mine, I waited for him.

I showed up to his car in a light blue dress that covered my shoulders. The skirt ended at my knees and a dark blue sash was wrapped around my waist. He greeted me and opened the passenger door like an experienced chauffeur. I thanked him and sat myself on the tattered but spongy seat.

He drove us to an elegant restaurant where colored lights churned and rock music played. With surprising confidence Julian read the wine list, then tasted what the waiter brought and nodded, saying it was fine. This was all so new to me I felt on edge, afraid of making a mistake. Julian handed me a menu. My hands trembled so much I turned it over to him and asked him to select. I couldn't read French, and it seemed he could from the speedy way he chose our meal. When the salad and main course came it was just as good as he'd promised.

"You're beautiful," he said, while I thought the same thing about him. "Much too beautiful to be stuck here in Hicktown for years on end while my mother exploits your talents."

I blushed at his blatant compliment, but before I could thank him, he continued on.

"I'm not a male lead like I told you before, Cathy; I'm second string in the corps. I wanted to impress you, but I know if I had you with me, as my partner, both of us could make it big. Of course you'd have to begin in the corps. But soon enough, they'll see your talent far surpasses your age and experience. Cathy, I've danced my head off to get where I am-but I could make it easier for you. With me to back you up you'll make it quicker than I did. Together we'd make a sensational team. Your fairness complements my darkness; it's the perfect foil."

And on and on he talked, half-convincing me I was great already, when a certain part of me knew deep down I wasn't that sensational, and not nearly good enough for New York.

Julian wined and dined me, then danced me out onto the floor. I was relieved at taking a break from his excessive talking. He clicked his fingers to the beat and began to twist on his toes. I followed his lead and wriggled my hips to the music. Soon we were dancing to rock like no one else in the place could. Everyone drew back just to watch. I was giddy with the nearness of him and the amount of wine I'd consumed.

On the way back, Julian drove onto a secluded lane where lovers parked to make out. I'd never made out and wasn't ready for someone as overwhelming as Julian.

"Cathy, Cathy, Cathy," he murmured, kissing my neck, behind my ears, while his hand sought to stroke my upper thigh.

"Stop!" I cried. "Don't! I don't know you well enough! You go too fast!"

"You're acting so childish," he said with annoyance. "I fly all the way from New York just to be with you, and you can't even let me kiss you."

"Julian!" I stormed, "take me home!"

"A kid," he muttered angrily and turned on the ignition. "Just a damned beautiful kid who tantalizes but won't come through. Wise up, Cathy. I'm not going to hang around forever."

My thoughts took me to my parents, back to the story of how they met. Then, in that moment, I wished that they were here to defend me. I wanted my dad. And I wanted my mom.

"You don't have to," I shot back. "Because I have standards."

He angrily muttered something under his breath and accelerated out of the area at full speed. The force pinned me to my seat, and I immediately reacted to pull my seat belt down.

"Standards, huh?!" He yelled. "Tell me about your so-called _standards_!"

"Okay, first of all," I began defiantly. "All you did during dinner was talk about yourself, about how good a dancer you are. I don't like braggers who talk my ear off. And second of all, you tried to put the moves on me, on our _first date_! I'm not some kind of... prostitute, you know!"

"You Southern girls are so queer," he sneered. "There are plenty of girls willing to give out."

I scoffed. "I bet they're regretting it now."

The car screeched to a halt. My head rocked back and hit the head rest. The road we were on lay halfway between the restaurant and his mother's studio.

"Get out!" Julian barked. "You can walk home for all I care!"

"Gladly," I replied, before taking off my seat belt and leaping out the door.

He probably hadn't expected me to take his word for it, for he stepped out of his car and called after me.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm walking home!"

He let out a sigh of frustration. "Why do you have to be like this?"

"Because I'd rather walk all the way back to my dorm than spend another minute with you in your car!"

He glared at me with poisonous eyes and yelled at me one final time.

"Fine! Walk home, bitch!"

As I continued to follow the road, he sat back in his car and sped past me, the tyres taunting me in a high-pitched squeal.

For your information, I arrived back to the studio safely.

* * *

I called home every second day after that incident. I talked to Dad, Chris, Carrie and Cory at different times. Only Mom shied away from the phone. Whenever I asked for her, Dad would say that she was out, but I had a feeling that she was actually at home, completely aware that I was calling. Regret filled me with each passing week; I had exaggerated when I told her that I hated her.

I talked to Chris the most. After he helped me to sneak out of the house, we had since established an incredible bond. He became my best friend, and I told him many things over the phone. One of those things included my horrid date with Julian.

"He sounds like a creep," Chris said. "If that's the way he talks about women, then God knows what he does to women."

"Yeah, hence why I dumped him," I emphasized. "Anyway, how have _you_ been? Had any disaster dates yet?"

"Thankfully, no. But I have met someone."

"Oh!" I was momentarily stunned, before I thought again and realized it was nothing to be surprised about. After all, Chris had it all: intelligence, looks and charm. "So, who's the lucky girl?"

"Her name is Carol," he replied. "We've been going out for the last two months."

"Wow, Chris! That's great! What does she do?"

"Mathematics."

"Math?" I burst out. "Gross."

Chris laughed for the next three seconds. "Oh, don't get her wrong. She is hilarious; you'll never guess that she is a math student!"

"She sounds... interesting."

"You'll love her, Cathy. I know you will."

"Okay, I'll take your word for it." I looked at a cheap watch I had bought the week before. "Darn, I should go now! I'll talk to you next time, okay?"

"Yeah, I have to go too. Bye, Cathy!"

"Bye!"

* * *

By my third month at Rosencoff, I had performed in a major production. In all four shows of 'Cinderella', I was Cinderella. To my surprise, it was a hit. Tickets to the first three shows had sold out prior to the premiere.

I soared like a bird knowing that all of Florida was watching me. Dancing alongside a broom was one of my favorite aspects of working in that production. I had never done anything so silly and yet so sweet.

Unfortunately, I was plagued by a nuisance after my premiere. After I bowed to the audience three times, I skipped away to my dressing room. In the middle of my dressing room table, lay a bouquet of roses. I grinned at the complimentary gesture, but when I checked the gift tag, my heart stopped.

_With love from Julian._

I shook my head and laughed at his pathetic way of apology, if it was an apology at all. After that horrible date, I refused to ignore the fact that he displayed the most abusive behavior I had ever experienced. So I threw the roses into the bin.

Worse yet, those roses greeted me after every show. They would be placed in the same position as the night before. Even the note stayed the same.

_With love from Julian._

By my third show, I began to expect those dreaded roses. I almost fumbled during that performance. I shivered as I suspected that Julian was watching me in the crowd, like a bird watching its prey.

Thankfully, there were no roses after the fourth and final performance. I sighed in deep relief as I walked into my dressing room and found the table free of decoration.

Five days after that final show, I finished practice as usual. Since my arrival, I had shared a room with another girl named Jane. We had many things in common, and whenever we were together, we talked like two women who had been friends for decades.

As we unlocked the door of our room, Jane turned the lights on. What we saw was horrific.

Our pillows and sheets had been thrown around the room. The wooden desk that we shared had been slashed repeatedly with something sharp. The bedside table that lay between our single beds was untouched, but the lamp that used to stand on it was now reduced to shards of glass.

"Oh, my God..." Jane gasped. "How did this happen? We're the only ones with the key!"

I thought so too, until I wondered how many spares Madame Marisha would keep.

"Who on Earth would do such a thing?" Jane cried.

I knew who could've done such a thing. If Madame kept a spare key, it would be more than likely that her husband and her son would hold access to it. After all, family members trusted each other.

When I informed Madame of the situation, I expected her to be just as shocked as Jane. Instead, she pursed her lips and sighed, as if it were a minor inconvenience.

"Julian has always been a passionate person," she said. "When he wants something, he'll do anything to get it."

I stood there, dropping my mouth wide open.

"Passionate?!" I scoffed. "Your son is insane! Tell him to leave me alone!"

"I will do that," Madame agreed. "But I cannot guarantee that he will stop pursuing you."

I shook my head and told her that she was never going to see me again. I stormed out of the studio and headed for the telephone booth once more. Dialling the numbers as quick as I could, my heart beat in anticipation as I waited for someone to pick up.

"Hello?" I heard the voice of my little sister once again.

"Carrie," I said. "I'm coming home."

After that call, I packed everything and left Greenglenna the next day.


	9. Forever, the Dresden Dolls

The final bus trip became the most tense hour of my life. I did not know what to expect when I got home. Would Dad yell at me for leaving? Would Chris be at work, leaving me to fend for myself?

How was Mom going to react?

As the bus slid to a halt outside my street, I thanked the driver and dragged two heavy suitcases with me. The vehicle revved its engine and drove towards the shops, leaving me alone.

It was seven o'clock in the evening. The air that had been warm sat at a mild temperature. I felt the breeze kiss my skin as I walked towards home. Familiar neighbouring houses refreshed my memory and I smiled at the beauty of suburban Gladstone. I wondered how I became stupid enough to leave.

The house came nearer. Soon, I was on the front lawn. I stood on the grass and took a moment to stare at the building I grew up in. The two-storey house was even more beautiful than I had remembered. It had remained untouched, but a part of me felt that the house had changed. I could almost imagine that it had been standing there, waiting for my eventual return.

As I trudged up the lawn, I heard a set of wheels screeching to a halt. I turned to find the source of the noise. My veins froze. I dropped the suitcases.

"Cathy!" A loud English accent interrupted the silence. Julian slammed his car door and walked towards me, a beer bottle hanging in one hand.

"You followed me here?!" I gasped, disbelieving.

"You shouldn't have left!" He slurred. "You'll never have a career now that you've left! But there's still time... come with me to New York!"

I was about to shout at him when I heard the front door open behind me.

"What is going on here?" Dad demanded as he appeared next to me.

"Cathy is coming with _me_!" Julian huffed, like a temperamental child.

Then, I heard the door open again.

"Not if she doesn't want to."

A female voice brought my neck to a ninety-degree turn. Now standing alongside me and Dad, was Mom.

"Cathy..." Julian murmured. "Tell your mother and father that you're coming to New York with me."

God, this man was annoying. "No, Julian! Now, get out of here and leave me alone!"

"Stupid bitch! Don't know what's good for you..."

Then, from out of nowhere, Mom marched right up to Julian and slapped him across the face. The strike caught the ballerino off-guard.

"Now, you listen here, you spoilt brat!" She threatened. "If you think you're good enough to be my daughter's boyfriend, then think again! I have been married to_ this_ wonderful gentleman..." She pointed at my dad. "...for twenty years! And let me tell you something: he has never cursed at me, thrown a punch at me or abused me in any shape or form. You, sir, need to work on your attitude!"

The door opened again, and out came my three siblings. As Mom finished her passionate speech, Carrie crept up next to her and stared at Julian. When he noticed her presence, Carrie drew in a breath and threw him the loudest scream she had ever screamed.

He dropped his beer and immediately covered his ears. He struggled to clutch onto his head as Carrie's shriek attacked his brain. He stared back at her in fury and raised his hand to strike her.

But before he could do that, Mom moved right up to his face. Then, she did something that I will never forget.

Her eyes widened and she screamed even louder.

Julian swatted with his hands, as if it would make the noise go away. Instead, he staggered backwards and fell on his ass. When he fell, Chris, Cory and Dad ran up to him. Then, all five of my family members teamed up to hurl an auditory assault.

"AAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!"

The collective screech made Julian jump to his feet and run back to his car. He struggled to open the car door for two seconds, before climbing into the driver's seat. The engine turned on and he sped the Hell away from us, disappearing from our street.

"That's right, you jerk!" Chris shouted after him. "Don't mess with the Dresden Dolls!"

The screams faded and the street was silent once again. But now the lights on every porch were lit, and people burst from their homes to stare at the crazy Dollangangers. I could only imagine their bewilderment. I buried my embarrassed face in my hands and burst out laughing.

"Sorry!" Dad called out to the neighborhood. "Just had to get rid of a family menace."

Some of them merely nodded and walked back into their homes. Others kept their mouths wide open, and continued to stare at us like we were lunatics.

* * *

The family had already finished dinner, but I was fortunate to be given a bowl of leftover spaghetti from the fridge. As I ate, I told my little siblings about how much I had missed them, and that I was sorry that I hadn't come home sooner. I asked them about school; Cory and Carrie were now both at the top of their class.

I had my dinner in the living room, which hadn't changed apart from the appearance from a wooden upright piano. When I asked the twins about it, Cory was the first to respond.

"It's my piano!" He burst. "But you can play with it whenever I'm not practising."

"Oh!" I replied excitedly. "You've started taking lessons?"

"Yeah! I've wanted to play for a while, but I only started last month."

I was proud of my younger brother. Carrie had begun participating in extra-curricular activities since the previous year; she joined the elementary school's track team. The last I had heard, she became the second-fastest girl in her year. Back then, Cory was yet to show interest in any after-school hobbies.

In the corner of my eye, I noticed Mom sneaking up the stairs. It didn't seem like she was trying to avoid me, for she was naturally quiet like a mouse. I asked Cory one more question about his progress and excused myself to go follow my mother.

When I reached the top of the stairs, I saw that the lights in the master bedroom were dimly lit. I crept towards the light source and noticed Mom sitting at her vanity. Just sitting. Her eyes were focused on her knees, as if there was something there to inspect. I knocked on the door, awakening her from her thousand-mile stare.

"Oh!" Mom gasped, turning around to face me. "Cathy."

"Hello, Mom," I croaked. "I didn't get a proper chance to say hello before."

She smiled. "Well, thank you for saying it now."

I wasn't sure if she was saying that to end the conversation or if she really wanted to thank me. Either way, I was not willing to walk away just yet.

"Can I come in?" I asked.

"Oh, sure," she quickly replied.

I made myself comfortable on the master bed, something I hadn't done since I was twelve.

"I also wanted to say something else," I began awkwardly. "Before I ran away, do you remember... well, you know how I said that I hated you, before I left?"

Mom slowly swung in her chair to take a long look at me. "Yes?" She murmured inquisitively.

"Well, they weren't true. I don't hate you, Mom. I was just mad back then, and I'm really sorry for saying those things to you."

She stared at me for another while. For a moment, she opened her mouth before snapping it shut, as if she wanted to say something before thinking better of it. Her tension showed as she scrunched her fists and then released them. Finally, she let out a sigh.

"It's okay," she said, smiling at me. "I'm glad. I mean, I'm really glad that you don't hate me."

It was my turn to sigh. "I didn't mean to make you think that way, Mom. I'm really, really sorry."

She giggled and told me to stop apologizing, but I still had one more thing to say.

"And thanks for standing up for me," I said, my mind turning back to the family's epic confrontation with Julian.

"Always, Cathy. I was never going to let you date that... _beast_!" She spat out that final word.

A mild paranoia filled my heart. "I really hope he doesn't come back."

Mom shook her head. "No. If he does come back, I'll punch him instead."

Air escaped my lips and I descended into mild laughter. I couldn't imagine Mom being able to punch, but the sound of her palm against his face was audible to the neighbor's ears.

"Gee, Mom!" I chuckled. "You're amazing."

In between giggles, Mom tried to speak in a serious tone. "If anyone tries to hurt you, I'll do anything to drive them away."

As we caught our breath, I felt a light aura between my mother and I. The air had cleared significantly, like a dusty room that had magically been cleaned. Mom's smile melted gently on her lips and she stared at her knees again.

"I didn't stay," she said.

"Stay?" I asked. "What do you mean?"

"When I returned to my parents' mansion... I only stayed for two nights."

My eyes narrowed. _She was only at Foxworth Hall for two nights? Where was she for the rest of the year?_

"Stupidly, I thought that I could just walk back to my mother and father," she continued. "I was wrong. During my first night there, I was forced to stand in front of my father and be whipped by my mother."

"Whipped?" I repeated, hoping that I didn't hear that right.

"She grabbed an old horse-whip and gave me seventeen lashes... each one for each year I spent living with your father."

My jaw dropped. What kind of sick person would do that to someone? The thought of a mother striking her daughter with a whip horrified me to the point where goose-bumps grew on my skin.

"I still have the scars," she said. "I'd show you but I don't want you to vomit all over the carpet."

"Did you call the police?" I interjected.

"No... maybe I should have, but no. After wrapping myself in bandages, I took my luggage and left for an old friend's house just a few towns away. Her name is Elaine and we went to high school together."

A smile shined on Mom's lips again as she remembered her classmate. "I knew she would be there, because the last I heard about her, she had married a lawyer and they both settled in the home she had grown up in. She was the only old friend I could trust, for the other girls I had known liked to gossip behind each other's backs. So, God knows what they have been saying about me. Elaine was never like that. She always saw the best in everyone. Anyway, I placed a phone call to her, saying that I was in town for a while and that I'd like to catch up with her. She was still as nice as I had remembered; I asked her if there were any hotels in her area and she immediately suggested that I stay with her. Her parents had passed a while before, so it was just her, her husband and her son in this huge house."

"After I stayed a few nights, I told her the truth about why I was in town. How I had left you and your siblings with your father and how I survived a brutal beating from my parents. Somehow, she understood me. She didn't pass any judgement onto me. I confessed that I wasn't ready to go home, that I didn't know what to say to my family in the event of my return. She let me stay as long as I liked, and I offered to do her chores. I couldn't be greedy with my favorite friend."

I was surprised that my attention span did not fade during her storytelling. When I began elementary school, I had trouble keeping still. The teachers would scold me for shuffling around on the floor. Mom's story entranced me, and I hung onto every word she said.

"One thing that Elaine did in her spare time was manage a homeless shelter - specifically for women and children. It was a discreet little building on the outskirts, and I would join her twice a week. My God, Cathy... the things that these families have been through... it made me feel like the luckiest woman alive. I mean, I have known that I was lucky since I was a girl, but I had never truly felt that way. Once you realize your luck, not only do you feel happy; you feel empowered. So, I volunteered at that shelter for quite a while. After about a year there, I was ready to go home. And that's all I have to say about that."

She did not need to say any more. I understood every word she said, the emotion in her words sinking into my brain.

"Well, I'm glad you're here, Mom." I said. "I shouldn't have run away. In fact, when I stayed at Greenglenna, I missed you. A lot."

Mom smiled, then she rose from her chair and gave me a gentle hug.

"I missed you too, Cathy. I'm glad you're home."

I don't know how long we stayed in each other's embrace, but in that span of time, words had been exchanged in a non-verbal language. The hug became a promise between mother and daughter. A promise to stick together through thick and thin, and not to fight when life was at its worst.


	10. Another Opportunity

I returned to training at Madame Delacroix's studio, shortly after my return from Greenglenna. I had told her all about what I did in Florida, how I performed sold-out shows to crowds that came from all over the East Coast. Madame was impressed and welcomed me back to Gladstone.

Because I had foolishly dropped out of school, the next best option for me was to find a job. Madame Delacroix had a new receptionist, so that position had been filled. Luckily job-hunting wasn't too hard. I sent out applications to employers all around the suburb. And guess where I landed my first real job?

At the diner. Where Mom used to work.

I turned seventeen in 1962. Jobs were still easy to find, and if you didn't have any experience, most employers would take you on and train you like their protégé. Although my boss was hesitant to hire me because of my mother's past actions, I used the Dollanganger charm to convince him that I was more determined and hard-working than she had been.

"I can cook, clean and I'm good with people." I said to Mr. West. "And I know this diner inside out. I will catch up to the rest of the staff in no time."

He smiled, and I was hired as a cook.

Dad didn't have to pay for my ballet training anymore. Even though I wasn't paid much, it was enough for me to attend ballet classes twice a week. I began to practise more at home, after I redecorated my room to make more space. I was almost financially independent and I was proud of myself.

Chris would invite Carol to dinner once a week. After the first week, she and I became quick friends. I realised what he had meant about forgetting that she was a math student when a spider invaded the kitchen.

Mom jumped away from the boiling pot and screamed. When we asked what was going on, she said that there was a spider crawling on the bench. Then Carol flew out from nowhere.

"I got it, I got it!" called Carol, who had grabbed a jar off the dining table and swooped on the spider. She trapped it in the jar and ran outside to set it free.

"Gee," Chris laughed. "Aren't you afraid of spiders?" He asked Carol when she returned.

"Nope," she replied. "I used to have a pet spider when I was little."

While most of the family looked on at her with fascination, I noticed Mom pulling a slightly disgusted face. I chuckled at her as I knew her arachnophobia was more severe than the rest of the Dollanganger's.

After the tenth dinner, Carol and I sat in the living room chatting about our aspirations. She dreamt of working for NASA, and stated that one day soon, someone will walk on the moon. Admittedly, I was amazed that mathematics could get someone so far. I confided to her that I felt useless now that I was no longer performing.

"I can't go back to Greenglenna for obvious reasons," I said. "I've always wanted to go to New York, but I know that I might run into Julian there. So, I'm stuck."

"Wait a second!" Carol exclaimed before rummaging through her handbag. "I nearly forgot about this!"

She pulled out a brochure and lifted it for me to see. "I found this on the university noticeboard and I thought that you might like to have a look at it."

I glanced over the glossy paper and read the text. The brochure had been issued from The National Ballet of Canada. Auditions were being held until the end of the month.

"I'm not sure why someone would put that on the university noticeboard," Carol said. "I guess there are a few ballerinas on-campus."

"Wow..." I beamed. "The National Ballet of Canada. It'd be a dream to train with the world's best." I paused. "But there is no way in Hell I'd ever get there."

"Why not? Can't you afford it?"

"I have _just_ enough to buy the train tickets; I'm just a little... worried."

"Worried about going to another country?" Carol gently inquired. God, that woman could read me like a book!

"Yeah, I mean, I'd be going to a strange faraway place. The idea terrifies me. I've heard that Canadians can be strange."

Carol burst out laughing. She clapped both of her hands over her mouth and convulsed at my poor choice of words. "Well, they probably think _we're_ strange!" She chortled.

"Oh, come on! You know what I mean. What if I don't fit in there? What if I get lost or something? I've never been outside of the United States."

Her laughs quietened into a small smile. "Well, lucky for you, I have."

My eyes widened like china plates. "You have?" I asked. "Where did you go?"

"I lived in England for two years," she explained. "My father taught literature at the University of Bristol when I was twelve."

"What was England like?"

"I enjoyed it there. The only thing I had to worry about was how to behave, because _their_ manners are different from _our_ manners. But that's easy; it's just something you can pick up in a few days. Same with their slang; it's different but it'd only take you a few seconds to get used to it. I'm sure it'd be the same as an American going to Canada."

I scrunched my lips. I loved the idea of exploring the Canadian landscape, but the thought of being alone terrified me.

"I don't want to go there on my own," I murmured to Carol.

She thought to herself for a moment. She stroked the side of her chin, as if she was slowly planning something.

"How about I go with you?" She said.

"What?" I responded with surprise. "Don't you have to go to lectures this week?"

"No, I've just started my two-week break!" Carol was obviously excited about her almost-plan. "I can afford the return trip as well as stay in a hotel for a few days. I'll accompany you to Toronto, and we can explore the place for a bit before I go back. How does that sound?"

It sounded brilliant. My heart was soaring at the opportunity.

"Are you sure you won't be busy?" I had to ask Carol for assurance.

"Absolutely not! In fact, I've always wanted to go to Canada. When do you want to leave?"

I was too stunned to react. Here I was, impulsively planning a trip with my brother's girlfriend. I could only hope that Chris didn't mind me dragging Carol away from him.

"By the end of next week, hopefully." I said. "Gee, I'm so excited already!"

Carol and I chuckled at our crazy last-minute plan. We spent our next hour on the sofa writing down our itinerary. I listed the dates and times, our budgets for food and shelter, and what we were going to pack.

"Do you know of any hotels in Toronto?" I inquired.

"No," Carol said. "Do you?"

I laughed again and shook my head. Impulse was turning me into a crazy woman. I didn't know whether to feel disappointed in myself or proud of myself.

That time next week, I left my family behind once again. At least this time, I hugged both of my parents and promised to call as often as I could. I swore that I was going to become the best ballerina in North America. I said goodbye to Chris, and I made Carrie and Cory promise me to not give up on their studies, for my lack of education held me back from further opportunities.

* * *

After three days of travel, we finally reached Toronto. It would have taken two days if sleep deprivation hadn't brought us down. We stopped at a cheap hotel in Syracuse to rejuvenate our states of consciousness, before we took off again the next day.

When we arrived at our destination, the first thing Carol and I did was look around for nearby hotels. The sun had just set, leaving the sky in its dark blue appearance. Travelling made me tired, and travelling made Carol irritable.

"If I'm not in a bed in three minutes, I will sleep on the nearest park bench!" She complained.

Luckily for the both of us, a modest little motel stood outside the station. We checked in as quick as we could and headed up to our assigned room. Once we entered Room 32, Carol dropped her luggage and fell face-down onto the first bed.

"I'm assuming that we'll do all the exploring tomorrow?" I asked as I sat down on my bed.

"Yep..." She moaned. "We'll familiarize ourselves with this city... and then you can..."

But Carol cut off there. At her last word, she began to snore.

It was my turn to fall back onto my bed. Constant movement made my calves sore and weak, and I was ready for sleep. I closed my eyes and quickly dreamt of a ballet studio I had never seen before.

Little did I know that Toronto would soon become my second home.


	11. Adventures in Toronto

I won't tell you anything about my audition, except that it went worse than I had expected.

After I performed in front of the renowned Celia Franca, I did my best to gracefully move off the stage. Once I was out of her sight, I ran to the change rooms and planned my escape.

That was three days after my arrival in Toronto.

Carol waited for me back at the motel. She would have accompanied me to my audition if I had not told her that I preferred not to have family and friends watching me dance in front of internationally known ballerinas. A few bags of groceries sat between our beds as I walked in.

"So, how was it?" Carol asked.

I didn't answer, and she took the hint.

"That bad, huh?" She said.

"It wasn't awful," I replied. "But I'd rather not talk about it."

Carol whispered an "okay" before sorting through the groceries. We lived off a diet of canned food and fresh fruit, as we wanted to save money for further touring and outdoor entertainment. While Carol swiped through the groceries, she pulled out a whole bag of red apples and proceeded to devour one. On the bed in front of her, was a tourist brochure.

"I could use a walk right now," I said. I couldn't get the audition out of my head.

"Alright," Carol replied, before crunching on the apple. "I want to go and have a look at the Elgin and Winter Garden Theatre. Why don't we do that today?"

"Yeah, sure. I don't care where I go, so long as it doesn't remind me of the goddamn National Ballet!"

"Wow, you _really_ didn't have a good time!" Carol chuckled. "We can go and see a play. I've heard that they're showing something at four o'clock this afternoon. I don't know what they're showing, but I'll watch whatever they've got."

I nodded in agreement and went to the bathroom to take a shower.

* * *

We spent the rest of the day exploring the parts of Toronto we hadn't encountered yet. At that point in time, the city was not fully constructed yet. Everywhere I walked, there were engineers controlling cranes and men ordering the transportation of steel beams. I felt like an explorer, observing the beginning of the future.

Carol and I hopped on the subway, which boasted a vibrant red color. We spent our travel pointing out the window and showing each other things we had never seen before. Canada was not too different from the United States, but even the slightest abnormality made me turn my head. I began to wonder how Dad felt every time he flew to another state.

We walked in and out of shops as we decided to spend that day's money on play tickets. Carol would make small talk with sales assistants while I observed the bright patterns printed on the dresses I would probably never wear. When four o'clock came near, we skipped down to the Elgin and Winter Garden Theatre.

Terence Rattigan's 'The Deep Blue Sea' played during that hour. Carol and I sat in the middle row among an almost-full crowd. I spent the next two hours watching Hester's every movement, my mouth kept agape as she struggled to make sense of love and lust. Although I initially disliked her character for her poor decisions, I felt a kinship with Hester. I knew that not everyone could find love as easily as my mother and father did. After all, I was once charmed by Julian Marquet. I thanked God that he showed his true nature not long after our first meeting.

After the play, Carol and I rode the subway back to the motel. No words were exchanged on the trip as we tried to make sense of how Terence Rattigan could write such a beautiful play. The feelings that had engulfed Hester Collyer seeped into my soul. I daydreamt of being a theatre actress who made people smile and cry.

When we reached our room, Carol pulled out the rusty motel key and shoved it into the door knob. She turned her wrist and pushed at the heavy door, with me trailing behind her. Upon closing the door behind me, the telephone rang.

"Well, who could that be?" Carol sang.

I walked over to the telephone to find out for myself.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Hello," said a female voice. "Is that Cathy Dollanganger?"

"Speaking."

"It's Celia Franca again." I nearly dropped the phone. "I would like to invite you back to the studio tomorrow morning for a callback."

"A... a callback?"

"Yes. I have one more position to fill, and as I cannot choose between the three potential candidates I watched today, I'm going to have to bring you all back for one last shot. How does that sound?"

I paused, then realised I had to respond. "Oh, yes! That sounds great!"

"Good! I would like to see you at ten o'clock tomorrow, sharp!"

"Alright, I'll see you at ten."

"Excellent!" Celia sounded more excited than she did this morning. "Goodbye for now."

"Goodbye!"

As soon as I hung up the phone, I spun around and jumped on my bed like an overexcited schoolgirl.

"You got it?" Carol asked, bewildered at my behavior.

"Almost!" I cheered. "I got a callback! Tomorrow!"

Soon, one overexcited woman became two, and we leapt on our respective beds like children.

* * *

I stood between two other girls on the stage. The one to my left was named Anna, and the one to my right was named Evelyn. All three of us were frozen under Celia's gaze as we waited for the results. I remembered leaping and performing perfect pirouettes, but I did a mediocre arabesque midway through my routine. I did not watch the other girls as they performed, for I knew that their interpretations would sabotage my mental health.

"All three of you have been outstanding this morning," Celia announced as she stood from her chair. "Unfortunately, one of you will have to wait until next year for another audition."

_One?_ I frowned. _I thought two of us would be going home tonight._

"Yes, you heard correctly, ladies. I have decided to make way for another dancer in my company. I will have two more new dancers after today."

I turned to both girls and gasped. Their faces mirrored mine as we hoped that we were one of the two lucky candidates.

"I have decided..." Celia paused. "... to choose Evelyn Mason and Cathy Dollanganger to be my new dancers."

I immediately leapt up in the air and screamed with joy. I heard Evelyn do the same and before I knew it, she was hugging me. We were strangers but we cheered each other on like we had already been friends. I turned to Anna, who I expected to be in tears; instead she smiled at us and shook Celia's hand.

"It has been a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Franca," I heard her say.

Two pairs of claps came from the audience, and I looked up to find that Carol had snuck into the studio. Nearby stood a young man I had never seen before. He was smiling at Evelyn and cheering her name.

"Yeah, Evie!" He shouted. "I knew you could do it!"

After shaking hands with Celia and promising to meet her tomorrow morning, Evelyn and I climbed down the stage and met our respective friends.

"Oh, Cathy!" Carol exclaimed. "I knew you'd get it!"

"Thanks, Carol," I said with a grin. "I can't believe it. I'll be dancing with Celia Franca!"

We both jumped up and down and squealed with absolute joy. We were vaguely aware that two people were staring at us.

"Congratulations!" Evelyn beamed as she approached me. The young man followed.

"Thank you," I replied. "Looks like we'll be dancing together from now on."

I had only noticed that the man next to Evelyn had copper hair when he stepped under a golden light. He smiled at me.

"You were brilliant," he said. "How long have you been training?"

"Since I was five," I answered.

"Wow, you've been training even longer than Evie has. She was six when she begged our mom to send her to our local ballet school."

"Oh!" I gasped. "So, you two are siblings?"

"Why, yes, we are!" He extended a hand. "I'm Thomas, by the way."

"Cathy." I shook his hand. "So, are you two local?"

Evelyn barged in. "Yeah! Just live up at Davenport. Where are you from?"

"We're from Pennsylvania." I stated, gesturing at both Carol and me.

"Gee," Thomas chuckled. "You've come very far."

"Oh, yes. Carol and I made plans to catch a train at the last minute."

The four of us laughed together as we left the studio. We took our conversation out onto the street as I explained to the Masons about our arrival in Toronto.

"...and as soon as we arrived, Carol just flopped onto the bed and fell asleep."

Thomas laughed at my story and took a moment to compose himself. "Oh, that is priceless! So, where are you two staying?"

Carol butt in. "We're staying at a motel not too far from here."

"Isn't that expensive?" Evelyn asked.

"The rates aren't too bad," Carol shrugged. "But we are running out of money fast."

"Why don't you come stay with us?" Evelyn cheerfully suggested. "We have an older sister who left for France earlier this year, and our parents want to take in a boarder. They'll charge half of what the motel charges."

Carol and I stood surprised. Before I could provide an appropriate answer, Thomas cut in.

"We also have a spare mattress so both of you can stay in our sister's room. You don't have to stay with us, but I bet it'd be more convenient than spending hundreds a week on accommodation. And mom likes to cook, so the food is free."

Surely enough, Carol and I agreed immediately. That evening, we signed out of the motel and walked to the Masons' house. Their parents welcomed Carol and I with open arms and gave us a free first night.

For dinner, Mrs. Mason cooked us a huge roast dinner. Chicken, peas and sweet potatoes filled the air with their delicious scent as we thanked the family for their hospitality. It was there I learnt that Thomas was eighteen and an event photographer.

Carol left the house two days later, while I would stay in Toronto for an indefinite period of time.

Two years later, I married Thomas Mason.


	12. A Dollanganger Ending

My family loved Thomas immediately. His modest charm worked wonders on my parents. Since their first meeting, Thomas became good friends with Mom and Dad.

Even after our wedding, my husband and I would visit Gladstone twice a year. We would have visited more if our schedules didn't hold us back. With Thomas being a highly recommended wedding photographer and me becoming a principal dancer, we relied on long telephone calls to make up for our absence. Nonetheless, every family gathering was worthwhile.

So, what happened to the Dresden Dolls?

By 1975, Carrie became a national comedienne. Although she wasn't a household name, all of Gladstone knew her as the local radio host. The _Carrie and Ryan Show_ aired every weekday from six o'clock. Ryan was a great co-host, according to Carrie. Whenever I was in town, I would listen to the two of them bantering back and forth like an old married couple, and it was hilarious.

My little sister had grown even taller than me. Her height was above average, but her eyes glimmered brighter than mine, which attracted a lot of attention from her male co-workers. But when anyone stepped out of line, she was quick to fire at them. Once, a sleazy man harassed her on the street; she turned to the man and stated in a loud voice that if he continued his disgusting behavior, she would grab her whole family to come and split the man's eardrums, like she did with her big sister's ex-boyfriend. She never saw him again.

Carrie stayed with a long-term lover named Benjamin. The one thing they had in common was their refusal to marry and have children. My little sister was too ambitious, much to Mom and Dad's pride and chagrin.

Cory was short for a man, but that did not deter him from becoming an internationally renowned pianist. One day, out of the blue, he bought a one-way plane ticket to Berlin. He performed alongside many other classical musicians and ended up on both American and European newspapers. He stayed in Berlin for three years before returning to Gladstone, to open up his own music school.

Upon his return, he reunited with a former classmate named Betty. They married after one year and joy followed them wherever they went. Sadly, they could not conceive any children, but Cory was a kind and reasonable husband. He asked Betty what she thought about adoption. Soon, they agreed that adoption was more worthwhile than having children of their own; after all, there were plenty of children out there who needed their help.

So, they adopted four children as the years went by. Becoming a family wasn't easy, for three of the orphans suffered from random acts of traumatic abuse. But with Cory and Betty's understanding and determination, all four of them grew up to be strong individuals. The eldest child, Samuel, became a civil rights attorney.

Chris and Carol married not too long after I did. Chris lived his dream of becoming a doctor. After his graduation, he applied for a residency at the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia. As you guessed, he got the job. His skills in pediatrics led to many promotions. By 1983, he became a senior consultant. Carol also achieved great academic heights and became a professor at the University of Pennsylvania.

Keeping with the Dollanganger tradition, they named their three children Carl, Christie and Chad.

As for Thomas and I, we produced two children. One girl and one boy. We named our eldest child Lori, after my mother-in-law. Two years later, I gave birth to Patrick Mason.

Shortly after Lori was born, Thomas bought us a three-bedroom house in Old East York. That way, we would be able to raise our children without being too far away from work. The in-laws weren't too far either, and they would visit every weekend.

When I became too old to dance, I took over as the artistic director of the National Ballet of Canada. Neither of my children followed in my footsteps, and that was fine. Lori's passion was held by gymnastics. Patrick wanted to be like his aunt Carrie, and aspired to work in media and communications.

* * *

One summer in 1998, another family gathering was held at the Dollanganger house. Dad had forgotten to buy some soda for the younger ones. His grandchildren insisted that they were satisfied with water and orange juice, but Dad persisted and walked out to his car.

Mom had spent the last few years trying to convince Dad to give up his license. He was too old to be driving, she would protest, but Dad loved to travel in his Crosley (which was still in good shape, surprisingly). He was in his eighties and he was yet to crash the car.

An hour later, Dad had not returned from his trip to the shops. Chris, Carrie, Cory and I began to worry, as the shops were only five minutes away.

"Maybe I should go look for him," Cory said.

Just as he said it, we heard a car pull into the driveway.

But the car that drew to a stop before our front door was white. And on the top was one of those spinning red lights. An emblem on the side of that white car read STATE POLICE. It looked like the same car that had shown up when Dad had his accident.

The policewoman hadn't even reached the door when I heard Mom let out a broken cry.

She knew. We all knew.

* * *

Everybody cried at Dad's funeral. Everybody except for me.

When nobody was looking, I would smile. I was grateful that my dad got to live his life to its fullest. Even in his eighties, he was not afraid of anything. He died loving life and its surprises.

I was also proud of my family. Despite our ups and downs, we were still the Dresden Dolls. We overcame every obstacle to become what we were: strong, successful citizens. Days after the funeral, Mom repainted the whole Dollanganger house with a paint brush in her bare hands. Dad had wanted the walls to be redone in a light lemon color, as the paint was beginning to strip away from its foundation. Yellow was a symbol of happiness, he had told me, and he wanted everyone to know that he was the happiest man in the world.

Before Thomas and I had to take the children back to Toronto, the whole family held one last gathering to commemorate the man who inspired us. We also took the time to thank one another for being our family members. Nobody took care of each other better than the Dollangangers, and we intended to keep it that way.

"To the Dollanganger-slash-Mason clan!" Carrie toasted, raising a thin glass of champagne.

"To the Dollanganger-slash-Mason clan!" We repeated with humored pride.

Chris drove the Masons to the airport, me included. Thomas sat in the front seat next to Chris and made small talk. Lori and Patrick were silent, except for the occasional whisper. I rested my face on the window, doing my best to stifle my cries so that the rest of the family could continue their conversations.

I felt as though things were never going to be the same.

I missed my dad, but life went on, and I lived to see the next generation.


End file.
